


what wind is to fire

by tree



Category: Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman
Genre: Enthusiastic cunnilingus, Epistolary, F/M, Love Letters, Married People in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tree/pseuds/tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sully comes home from Nevada.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of 'Promises, Promises' Sully goes to Nevada. In 'Expedition' we learn he was gone for a month. And I said to myself, THAT SEX MUST'VE BEEN SPECTACULAR. So, uh, here we are. I am, apparently, shameless.
> 
> The title comes from Roger de Bussy-Rabutin: "Absence is to love what wind is to a fire; it puts out the little, it kindles the great". Many thanks to Jacks for beta reading and being generally awesome. 

We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the daybreak.  
Walt Whitman, _Song of Myself_

 

 

"Welcome home."

Sully jumped down from the train to see Matthew's grinning face. "Good to be home," he said as they shook hands. He shouldered his bags, feeling the weight almost like a part of himself after carrying them with him for so long.

Horace walked out of the conductor's office with a broad smile. "It's sure good to have you back, Sully. But I thought you wasn't comin' til tomorrow."

"It's a surprise for Dr Mike," Matthew said. "So you can't say nothin'."

"Oh, I won't. You can count on me." Horace’s smile stretched even wider. "Dr Mike's gonna be real pleased."

"Hope so," Sully said, with his own grin.

He and Matthew stepped from the platform into the morning sun. "Dr Mike's at the clinic," Matthew told him as they crossed the tracks. "She don't suspect a thing and Colleen made sure she's got no appointments this mornin'."

"I owe you."

"You don't owe us. We all just want her to be happy. She's been kinda low since you been gone. She tries to hide it, but..." He shrugged. "It's good you're back. I just can't believe Brian kept his mouth shut."

Sully chuckled. "What did you bribe him with?"

"Candy," said Matthew with a laugh. "What else?"

It was still early enough in Colorado Springs that there weren't too many people about. Matthew and Sully took the long way to the clinic, avoiding the general store and Grace's. Sully felt like he'd been gone a lot longer than four weeks, but the town looked just the same as when he left.

The clinic was casting a wide shadow when they reached its western side. Matthew held his hand out for Sully's bags. "I'll take 'em to the wagon."

"Thanks." Sully rolled his shoulders to ease the muscles, a new tension growing in him as he looked up at the clinic windows. He glanced back at Matthew. "For everything."

The younger man just grinned. "See you tonight at supper." 

Sully watched Matthew walk away, finding himself unaccountably nervous. He'd spent four weeks missing Michaela, wanting her, writing her letters that he never sent. The urge to get home had driven him on for days of little sleep, just so he could be here sooner. To surprise her, yes, but mostly because he was so desperate to see her. And now he stood leaning against the wall of the clinic, imagining he could feel her through the wood, shaken by the need inside him. No one had ever had the kind of power over him that she did, that he'd fought for so long. Even now, the wonder and the terror of it could still surprise him.

The door to the clinic was propped open when Sully stepped silently onto the porch. Michaela was framed by the doorway, sitting at her desk, absorbed in reading and taking notes. She was turned slightly towards him and he could see the little crease between her brows that appeared when she was concentrating. The light from the window behind her lit up her hair, highlighting its yellows and gold. She wore it over one shoulder in a thick braid, with strands escaping here and there as they always did, no matter how she tried to tame them. 

Somehow she was even more beautiful than he remembered.

For a few seconds he just stood, watching her, love overwhelming him with its intensity. It grabbed him sometimes that way, just grabbed him. He thought he should be used to it by now, but it could still swamp him.

"Mornin'," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, and grinned when her head shot up. 

"Sully?" She stared at him in disbelief. "How did— your telegram said you wouldn't be home until tomorrow."

"Thought I'd surprise you. Want me to go back?"

She blinked then gave a little hiccuping laugh. "Don't you dare," she said and all but flung herself into his arms. She wrapped herself around him and pressed her face against his shoulder. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

"I missed you." He held her tightly, running both hands up and down her back, taking in as much of her as he could. The scent of her filled his lungs. Closing his eyes, he dropped his face into the curve of her neck and sighed. This was what he'd been missing all those miles; this was his whole world.

They stayed that way for a while, just holding on to each other, until the stroking of his hands over her slowed into something more deliberate. Michaela arched against him slightly and the air around them turned charged the way it did before a storm. Sully lifted his head and kissed the spot just above the fabric of her collar. "I missed you," he whispered again, then opened his mouth to suck lightly on the flesh he'd kissed. 

A breath shivered out of her with his name, her hands tightening on him. She turned her face to his and desire blazed through him as their mouths met. They kissed like they could crawl inside each other, fuse together into one being.

Sully's only coherent thought was that he had to touch her. He needed his hands on her skin, nothing between them. He took a step, backing her up, and they stumbled further into the clinic, still kissing. Michaela was making soft sounds in her throat that went straight to the heavy ache in his groin. He picked her up and set her on the desk, holding her hips tightly against his. Reaching down, he began working her skirt up over her knees.

With a start, Michaela wrenched her mouth away from his. "The door." Her darkened eyes met his as if she expected him to understand. But he didn't care about any door. He stroked the backs of her knees and bent to kiss her again. "Sully, we have to shut the door," she said, insistent, wriggling free from his arms. 

The clinic door, he realised, which was open so that anyone could walk by and see them. He took a deep breath, feeling a little guilty, a little embarrassed that he'd been so caught up in her he hadn't thought of it himself.

He watched as she shifted the heavy book propping the door with her foot, admiring the glimpse of slender ankle. The door swung shut and she fumbled with the lock, finally sliding it into place, then turned, her back against the wood. She was flushed, her mouth open, her hair escaping its braid, and she was beautiful, his wife.

She smiled at him and he was lost again.

With two steps he was close enough to touch her. He reached out to trail one finger down the buttons on her blouse, from high at her throat to where they disappeared into her skirt. His short nail made a ticking sound against each one. When his hand reached her waist, he slid it sideways, curving up and over the delicate rise of her ribs until his fingers rested just beneath her breast. He could feel her heart thudding under his palm. 

Another step and he was pressing her against the door with his body. Michaela closed her eyes and arched her head back, pushing herself against him and exposing her soft white throat. Sully bent his head to lick her where the hot blood ran under her skin. His hands moved to cup her face, fingers sliding into her hair as his tongue slid into her mouth and his hips rocked, rocked, rocked against hers. He stopped thinking about anything but the feel of her in his hands, her hot little tongue in his mouth. 

He had her blouse almost entirely unbuttoned before her fingers covered his. "Wait, we can't—" she whispered, then moaned as he began to kiss his way across her throat to her ear. "Not here," she said, breathless.

It took him a second to focus when he pulled back this time. Her lips were wet and swollen and a soft flush rose from her neck into her cheeks. Sully had to close his eyes against the force of his desire. Of course they couldn't. Not in the clinic. Fighting for control, he eased away and braced his hands on either side of her against the door. "Sorry," he said, trying to steady his breathing.

"There's no need to be sorry," she said softly. He felt her kiss his hand and then the withdrawal of her warmth as she slipped out from under his arms. The loss almost hurt. 

He pushed off from the door to stand straight and scrubbed his hands over his face. When he looked to Michaela, her blouse was still undone and she was watching him with a small, secret smile playing around her mouth. She took his hand between both of hers and pulled him backwards into the hallway. His breath clogged in his throat when he understood where she was leading him.

With the door closed, the air of the recovery room was still and hushed. In the dim light, Sully watched as she slid the blouse from her shoulders and placed it over the chair, as she sat and unlaced her boots. He was entranced by the grace of her movements, the faint glow of her skin, the look in her eyes as she came to stand before him. The look that was only for him.

Her hands cupped his face, her soft fingers tracing along his jaw as she guided him down to her mouth. Sully tried to hold back, to slow himself down, but the need inside him reared up, ferocious. He gripped the fabric of her skirt, pulling her tightly against him, and she rose up on her toes to kiss him fiercely. The world narrowed to their mouths, their hands, as they fumbled with buttons and closures.

"You wear too many clothes," he muttered and she answered with a sound that was half-laugh, half-moan.

Finally, finally, they tumbled onto the bed, skin to skin, bodies straining for purchase. He tried to reach between them to touch her but she shook her head and wrapped her legs around him. 

"Please," she said. "I need you."

It was happening too fast. He was right on the edge and he had to wait, had to give her pleasure first. But her hips shifted, guiding him, and she took him in and in, and he didn't have the strength to resist what he wanted so badly. She moved, he moved, every pulse a sharp spear of sensation so intense it was almost unbearable. Her body was hot and soft and liquid around him and he drowned in her gladly. Everything was too much, too good. The way she arched against him, the salty taste of her skin, the sounds in her throat, her hands on him. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't stop. When she shuddered and cried out, contracting around him, it tore through him, blazing like the sun, the searing white heat of his release. 

They lay together for a moment, breathless. Then she started laughing against his shoulder.

"What's so funny?" he mumbled.

"I think we set a speed record this time."

"Would've been faster if you didn't wear all those clothes." 

She slapped his arm lightly, still laughing. "Just for that, you're going to help me tidy up." 

He lifted his head to look down at her beautiful, smiling face. "I suppose that's fair," he agreed, sweeping the hair from her cheek. "And then what'll we do?"

"Well, since there's been a conspiracy to keep my schedule free this morning, I thought it would be nice to go home."

"I'd like that." He laid his brow gently against hers and closed his eyes. "Let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Jacks, who generously flails at the right moments, and smacks me around when I forget I'm supposed to be in Sully's head.

For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.   
Walt Whitman, _Song of Myself_

 

  

Light filled their bedroom, pooling here and there on the floor and making the smooth wood glow. In the months it had taken him to build the house, Sully had imagined it just like this: the early sun shining in as it rose over the mountains. He'd wanted them to wake to the promise of every new morning.

The morning wasn't so new now, but the light still slanted in from the east, the sun not yet directly overhead. A shaft of that light lay on one of his wife's bare feet where it peeked out from under her skirt. She sat on the end of the bed, watching him unpack like it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. He was no better, he thought. He would've been finished by now if he could stop himself touching her every few minutes.

Michaela eyed the small pile of wrapped parcels he'd placed in the corner. "Are you sure I can't open it now?"

It was the third time she'd asked. "You'll get your present at supper like everyone else."

She tilted her head and gave him a winsome look. "Please?"

"That ain't gonna work this time," he said, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. The trouble was it _had_ worked, all too well, in the past. Just after she'd come back from Boston was the first time she'd used it and almost felled him. Made his blood run hot and the breath catch in his throat. Michaela Quinn didn't use her feminine wiles much but when she did they were potent.

To distract her, he pointed at one of the bags, still half full. "Those are the clean ones."

With a little huff, she reached in and began pulling out neatly folded clothes, passing them to him to put away. Sully had his back to her and his hands in the drawer when he heard rustling.

"What's this?" she asked.

His stomach sank. He'd thought he put that in the other bag, the one that sat safely by the door. "That's nothin'," he said, moving to take the packet she was examining. "Just some papers."

She held on to it. "It's addressed to me."

Defeated, he shrugged. "It's a letter I wrote you, that's all."

"You wrote to me?" Her face lit up and she began unfolding the pages. Sully reached out to stop her.

"Don't."

It wasn't loud or harsh, but the word seemed to hang in the air after he'd said it. Frustrated with himself and more than a little embarrassed at his reaction, Sully walked to the window and stared out, seeing nothing.

"Why don't you want me to read it?" Michaela asked quietly.

He didn't know how to explain it to her. What he'd written were the sorts of things he might say to her when they were lying together late at night. Things that were whispered in the dark, that could only be said skin against skin. Just having them down on paper made him feel exposed. To think of her reading them in the bright morning light the way she would a letter from one of her sisters — it was too much. 

"I just missed you," he began, tracing the edge of the window frame with his thumb. "So I wrote and told you that. Only it didn't seem like much of a letter, so I waited. After a while, it got to be more a way of talkin' to you, it made me feel like you weren't so far away, and I didn't want to give that up. So I never sent it." There was a knot in his gut and he felt almost painfully foolish, admitting he was no better than a lovesick boy. "It ain't a proper letter, anyway. It ain't even finished."

The soft sound of bare feet against the floor broke the silence as Michaela came to stand behind him. Her arms slipped around his waist and she pressed herself against his back. "I love that you wrote to me. And I would love to read it. But if it makes you uncomfortable, then I won't. Those words, those thoughts, whatever they are, belong to you. I don't want to take them from you."

Sully closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Sometimes her sweet generosity still surprised him. Not that she had it in her but that he could doubt it or forget it. The trust between them had been there from the beginning, the thread that wove through everything they were to each other. And it was all hers, everything he was. 

He turned and wrapped his arms around her, looking down into her solemn face. "I wrote it for you. I want you to read it. Just... not yet."

"All right," she said gently. "Give it to me when you're ready."

He nodded and rested his brow against hers, closing his eyes.

Her hand rose to lie warmly along the side of his face and he nuzzled her palm. "You must be exhausted."

"Must be," he agreed, turning slightly to kiss the inside of her wrist. He felt the little laugh that shook her and then her hands reaching back to take his own.

She tugged lightly. "Come sit down."

He followed obediently, sitting, and she came to stand between his splayed legs. He closed his eyes again as her fingers ran along his shoulders and up into his hair. His arms went around her waist, hands exploring the arch of her spine and the dip and flare of her hips like she was a landscape he was mapping in the dark. No matter how hard he'd tried all those nights in Nevada, nothing in his memory had come close to what it felt like to actually hold her.

His head fell forward to rest against her as she stroked his neck, her cool fingers kindling a flame inside him that began to burn away his weariness. Sully lifted his head and reached up to undo the buttons at her neck, pulling the fabric aside until he could press his face against the warm hollow at her throat. "I missed the way you smell," he murmured. "I bought some of your fancy soap 'cause it smelled like you."

She rested her cheek on the top of his head and he could hear her smile. "I took one of your shirts out of the washing and slept in it because it smelled like you."

He kissed the flesh under his mouth, nosing her blouse further aside to find more skin. "Wish I'd seen that."

"If you'd been here, I wouldn't have had to wear it," she said and he felt the vibration of the words against his lips as they slid up her throat.

When her head fell back, his mouth roved to the delicate place under her chin, her jaw. Against his cheek, her skin was downy, warm and sweet like a ripe peach. He leaned up to lick the tiny lobe of her ear, taking it into his mouth, grazing it lightly with his teeth. Michaela moaned softly.

Sully opened his eyes to look at her. Her own were closed and a faint flush was spreading across her face and chest. He pressed kisses downwards as he undid the rest of her buttons.

This time they would go slower.

"Turn around," he said. "Let me take your hair out."

With her back to him, he pulled at the tie holding her braid in place. The strands began to unravel, slightly curled. He combed his fingers through them, watching them spill like waves over his wrists. Light played on the thick copper twists of it and made them ripple like a waterfall.

Easing her forward slightly, he stood and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. He slid the blouse from her arms and let it drop to the floor, then unfastened her skirt. Kneeling, he drew it down with all the layers underneath until they puddled around her feet. 

"That's a little more than taking my hair out." Michaela's voice was low and amused.

Rising slowly, his hands followed a leisurely path from her ankles to the petal-soft skin of her thighs. "Want me to stop?" 

"No," she said, leaning into his touch.

Her desire was a powerful force. She could set his blood humming with a look, a single word. He drew back quickly to strip off his shirt and she turned, rising on her toes to kiss him as it fell away. They fumbled with the last of their clothing, a familiar urgency building with their movements. Michaela slid onto the bed and Sully followed her down, joined by mouth and hands, unwilling to separate even for a moment. 

_Slower_ , he reminded himself. On his elbows above her, he cupped her face between his palms and kissed her with all the longing he'd felt with so many miles, so many weeks between them. Her hands roved over him, touching everywhere she could reach, like she was mapping him, too, like she was claiming him.

Pulling away from her mouth, Sully trailed his lips across her collarbones and down to the sweet curves of her breasts. She arched up under light flicks of his tongue, the gentle scrape of his teeth, her hands holding tight to his arms. Slowly, slowly, he made his way down her body until he could press his face into her belly and inhale the dark, secret smell of her. He licked a stripe up to her belly button and she whimpered.

He sat back on his heels, taking in the sight of her: her hair spread wildly across the pillows, her eyes dark and fixed on his, her nipples taut and rosy. So beautiful. He stroked the inside of her thighs from her knees to the creases at her hips. She whispered his name, her breath coming light and fast through parted lips. Bending down again, never breaking her gaze, Sully placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the paths his hands had traced, taking his time, feeling the tension in her body, the anticipation. Feeling it in his own.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, he put his mouth on her. 

Her taste exploded on his tongue, thick and tart. She was slick and swollen, hot as a fever, hot as the blood in his veins. He lapped at her greedily, tongue curling, sliding, seeking out the places that made her gasp, made her writhe. Her feet pressed against his flanks, toes curling against his ribs while her thighs trembled around his head. He held her hips as he drove her with his mouth, his tongue, driving himself, need twisting in him sharply, her little choked cries setting him on fire, on and on until he heard her voice break — _oh God, oh_ — felt her stiffen, and then the pulsing pleasure that rocked her in his arms.

He stayed with her until her body relaxed and her legs slid off his shoulders. Michaela reached for him and he moved into her, sinking into the wet heat of her body his mouth had just left. Her arms came around him, her legs twining with his, and her hands spread across his back, gliding down to stroke the spot at the base of his spine that sent arrows of heat straight to his groin. He moaned and thrust his hips into her helplessly, the edges of his thoughts blurring. 

She lifted up to kiss him, her tongue flicking at his lips, licking at her own taste on his mouth, and Sully lost control. He surged into her over and over and she met him at each thrust, opening her heart to him as well as her body. Love welled up in him, woven with the pleasure, and then broke like a raincloud, bursting through him with the sweetest agony of his life.

For a few moments all he could do was hold himself up on shaking arms. When he opened his eyes, he found Michaela smiling up at him sleepily. Sully leaned down to kiss her softly, then slid bonelessly to lie beside her. She turned to nestle down beside him with a sigh.

This was his favourite part of being with her, these quiet after times. When they lay together, drifting in contentment, and he was steeped in the simple and necessary comfort of touching her. Holding her this way satisfied some deep and elemental part of him that had been hidden until he met Michaela Quinn. With her he was whole and home.

He felt a heaviness in his body signalling sleep as he trailed his hand slowly through her long hair. From the way she lay against him, he knew she was almost asleep herself. "When do you need to be back at the clinic?" he asked.

"Not for a few hours." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

Sully shifted them slightly into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. After a few moments he heard the sleepy murmur of his wife's voice. "So there's still time for me to open my present before we go."

He snorted a laugh into her hair, feeling the curve of her lips against his skin. He was still smiling as he slipped gently into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Jacks for her encouragement and for talking me down from the Ledge of Lost Perspective. 

The furious storm through me careering, I passionately trembling.  
The oath of inseparableness of two together, of the woman that loves me and whom I love more  
than my life, that oath swearing

Walt Whitman, _From Pent-Up Aching Rivers_

 

 

The bedroom was empty when Sully got back from his walk.

He'd given Michaela the letter to read after supper, but the jangling nerves in his belly wouldn't let him stay indoors. So he'd taken his time wandering through the familiar trees, feeling the night air on his skin and trying to settle himself.

An hour later he was climbing the stairs, ready to face Michaela and whatever her feelings were about what he'd written. But she wasn't there.

Sully shook his head at himself as he took off his belt and set it on the dresser. So much time spent worrying and nothing to show for it.

As he stripped his shirt over his head, he heard a soft step in the hall and then the door closing gently.

"I was beginning to think you were going to stay out there all night."

He turned and his heart stuttered inside his chest.

Michaela was wearing one of his shirts.

She smiled at him as his eyes swept over her, from her bare feet to the pretty twist of her hair that she hadn't taken down yet. A glint of silver at her throat caught his eye. "You put it on."

"I thought you'd like to see how it looked." She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, closer to the lamp. The shirt hitched around her hips and left her legs bare, like ivory in the soft light.

Sully could only stare at the picture she made.

He'd bought the necklace because the stones made him think of her skin. They were a milky white that shaded to blue in places, like the deeper shadows of a frozen pond, with a sheen to them like the inside of an oyster shell. It was delicate work set in pure silver from the mine, two strands that intertwined and rested just above her collarbones. Against her skin, the stones shone even whiter and took on a richness like cream. Where they lay in shadow they seemed to glow.

"What do you think?" she asked.

There were times when what was inside him seemed too much to fit into anything he could say out loud. When he almost couldn't breathe for everything he was feeling. He took a step towards her, searching for words, reminded again of the helpless longing that had haunted him almost since the first time they met. And now here she was, his wife with the moon at her throat.

"I think you look like a painting," he said, finally.

Her smile was pleased. "A good painting, I hope."

"Like somethin' in a museum."

"I don't know that I'd want to be left in a museum," she said as she stood up slowly, "where no one could touch me." She looked up at him, swaying closer. "I think I'd rather belong to just one person. Someone who appreciates me for what I am."

Sully felt his blood running thick and hot under his skin. It was like she was casting a spell on him with her voice, her nearness. There was something in her tonight he'd never seen before, a boldness that excited him and made his heart race.

She took his hand and turned it over, watching as her fingers stroked across his palm. Just that innocent sensation was enough to steal his breath. "I love your hands," she said. "I love the way you touch me. I always have."

Desire sliced through him like the keen edge of a knife. "I love touching you," he said hoarsely. "I always have."

She let go of his hand and brought both of hers to rest against his chest, rising up on her toes. In the lamplight her eyes were the colour of river stones. "Sully, I have never read anything as beautiful as that letter."

All the fear he'd been carrying was burned away in that moment by the heat of her kiss. He banded his arms around her and pulled her flush against him as his body responded to her the way it always did, an ache both sharp and sweet.

His only thought right then was getting her to the bed, but as he started to guide her backwards, she pulled away. Her mouth moved to his jaw, his throat, and her hands on his chest slid lower, below his ribs and across his stomach. She slipped around him, to his side, his back, her fingers trailing over his skin, leaving ribbons of heat. He tried to turn with her but she held him in place with a murmured, "No, stay there." 

Her hands stroked across his shoulders and down his arms, their fingers tangling together for a moment. Then he felt her mouth on his back, near the scar from his bullet wound, and the puff of her breath as she spoke. "I remember the first time I saw you this way. I'd never known a man could be so beautiful." She laid her hands at his waist and spread her fingers wide as she slid them slowly up his back. "The way I felt frightened me and I was so embarrassed. I was certain that you'd know just by looking at me how much I wanted to touch you." She licked the curve of his shoulder blade, sucked the thin skin over the bone into her mouth. 

"I didn't know," Sully said in a choked voice. They'd hardly touched but his body was flooded with a heavy, pulsing desire. Like they'd been apart for weeks and not just hours. Like he was starved for her all over again. 

"You were so patient with me. You showed me that I didn't have to be ashamed of my feelings, that it was all right to express them." He felt the press of her body against his as she stepped into him. "That I'm allowed to want you."

And then she was gone, cool air rushing across his back. He turned and found her watching him from the fireplace. "I don't know if you can understand what a gift that was," she said, and ever so slowly began undoing the buttons of her shirt. His shirt. The breath clogged in his chest, his lungs burning, as inch by inch a strip of white skin was revealed. Her eyes never left him, he could feel them like a touch, but he couldn't look away from the twist of her fingers.

When she'd freed the last button, Michaela reached up and slid the fabric from her shoulders, letting it skim down her arms, over her hips, and fall to the floor. She stood before him wearing nothing but the necklace he'd brought her from Nevada.

"Is it what you imagined?" she asked softly.

He'd written about the necklace in his letter, told her that he'd pictured her wearing it and nothing else. But it had just been a fantasy. He'd never expected— "Michaela," he managed, her name the only word left in his head. 

She took the few steps to him slowly, letting him watch her move, the way her body shifted and the light played on her skin. When she was close enough to touch, he cupped the back of her neck to bring her closer but she resisted. "There's something I want to ask you."

"Ask me."

Her hands rested on his hips for a second before she began running them lightly up and down his thighs. He could hardly think for wanting her. "You said in your letter that you imagined me, us together, and I wondered..."

"What?" he panted.

"When you were thinking about me... did you ever..."

It hung unfinished between them, what she couldn't say. But Sully knew exactly what she was asking. "Yes," he confessed, and took her moan into his mouth as he kissed her. It was hungry, desire surging through him like a river undammed, and she was with him, he could feel it, the way she devoured his mouth as he devoured hers.

"I pretended it was you," he told her as she finally let him draw her to the bed, "your hands touching me."

She shivered against him and then it _was_ her hands touching him, stroking him through his trousers until he groaned. He fumbled for the fastening but her fingers were less clumsy than his. Their kisses grew deep and wild as she pushed him onto his back and draped her body over his. He gloried in the feel of her skin, her weight pressing him down, her mouth hot and urgent on his. He filled his hands with her rounded curves, holding her tightly to him and trying not to rub against her in desperation.

Her mouth moved from his to trace a path across his chest. The hot sweep of her tongue over his nipple was a sharp flare of pleasure again and again. She had lifted up so their bodies were no longer touching and Sully tried to pull her back down. "No." She shook her head and drew his hands up to rest on the pillow. "Let me."

She slid down his body, her eyes on his, her skin glowing in the light, and then she took him in her mouth.

He thought his heart would stop from the slow, agonising pleasure of it as it went on and on. Without knowing, his hands came down to fist in the sheets as she held him still and drove him out of his mind. He could hear his own ragged, panting breaths, his choked moans, and knew he couldn't stand it much longer.

"Wait," he managed. "Michaela, wait." The effort to pull away left him shuddering, but he pushed himself to sit against the headboard and held out his hand. "Come here."

She crawled up to straddle his lap, kneeling over him, and cupped his face in her hands. The tip of one finger slid over his bottom lip and he held it between his teeth, sucking it slowly. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth, her lips parted on a breath, when she took him inside her. He was powerless to do anything but feel as she rocked over him, around him, her hands braced on his shoulders and her neck a beautiful arch.

Sully touched as much of her as he could with his hands, his mouth. Little whimpers escaped her throat when he reached between them to stroke her where they joined, and soon she cried out, her body gripping him in waves as she shuddered.

He broke then, burning, suffocated by pleasure. His body took over and with his face pressed hard into the curve of her shoulder, his hands clutching her thighs, he thrust his hips against hers until the whole world went up in flames.

They slid sideways together in a tangle of arms and legs and racing hearts. The cool sheets felt good against his hot skin. Michaela pushed his hair away from his face, letting her fingers trail over him, as he caught his breath. 

After a few minutes he opened his eyes to find her watching him. "So you liked the letter."

She laughed and shook her head against the pillow. "Were you truly worried I wouldn't?"

"I thought maybe you'd think it wasn't... proper, I guess."

"My views on what is and isn't proper have changed a great deal since coming to Colorado Springs. And since marrying you." She leaned in and kissed him with a smile on her lips. "I'll admit that at first I was a little... surprised. It was almost as though you were talking about some other woman, not me."

"Why?"

"Well, I suppose I've never really thought of myself that way. As... as desirable."

Sully almost laughed until he saw that she was serious. He propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her. "You mean that."

"It's not that I didn't think _you_ thought it. But it — I wasn't sure — I never knew what it was that you saw when you looked at me." Her shoulder hitched in a shrug and he couldn't help the way his hand reached out to cup it and follow its path across her back. 

"But now you do?" he asked.

She brought her hand to his cheek. "Now I know that I have the same power over you as you do over me."

"You've always had it."

"I understand that now," she said and pulled him down next to her again. He drew her closer and she curled into him with a soft hum.

Peace filled him as they lay quietly together. All the urgency of the day was spent, leaving them just the sweetness. Exhaustion settled on him like a blanket but he didn't want to sleep just yet. Michaela was drawing patterns over his arms and chest with the tips of her fingers, so soft it felt like feathers. He remembered the first nights of their honeymoon, when they'd spent hours just touching. They'd barely slept. He'd been drunk on her, happier than he'd ever been and half afraid it was only a dream.

He felt that way now. He didn't want to close his eyes in case she was gone when he opened them again. It was foolish but he didn't care. He pulled her tighter against him and pressed a kiss into her hair.

She yawned. "Don't let me fall asleep before I take the pins out."

"I'll brush it if you want."

"That would be nice. I've missed that."

"Me too."

She was silent again for so long he thought she might have fallen asleep after all. He ran his hand down her back and felt her arms tighten around him. "I'm so glad you're home," she whispered, like she was confessing a secret.

It came to him then, the answer to a question he didn't even know he'd been asking all this time. Sully eased back and caught her chin with his fingers, lifting it so he could look into her eyes. "It's you," he said, feeling the plain truth of it in his bones. "You're my home."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing the letters as I was writing the story itself because it helped to work out some of the details. In June last year, I sent the 5 I'd finished off to Jacks to beta. Then everything just...stalled. I'm posting now not because I've finished but because I don't know when (or if) I'll finish and I've decided to operate on the assumption that something is better than nothing.
> 
> I did quite a bit of research for these but the truth is that attempting to determine any kind of logical timeline in this show is impossible. Mike and Sully get married in May and the episode after "Promises, Promises" is supposed to be in February because it's her birthday. Except the episode after _that_ is Thanksgiving. WHAT THE HELL SHOW. So I've arbitrarily decided that Sully set out in mid-September, getting him back home in mid-October, because it's obviously not winter yet. It's never specified where in Nevada he goes, so I chose Virginia City since that's where all the mines were. I'm grateful to the Library of Congress for its collection of historical maps that gave me a guide to how Sully would have gotten to Nevada and how long it would've taken.
> 
> One last thanks to Jacks for her bits of purple and general confidence-boosting. I don't know if you're still out there, but I hope you're doing well.

This hour I tell things in confidence,  
I might not tell everybody, but I will tell you.

Walt Whitman, _Song of Myself_

 

Virginia City, September 17th, 1870

Dear Michaela,

It's evening now and twilight looks about the same in Nevada as it does in Colorado so long as I keep my eyes on the sky. When I look down, though, everything is different. The land is flatter here, the air is colder, and you're a thousand miles away.

I miss you.

It's funny how weary just sitting still can make you. I think you would've liked the journey, though. Watching the land unravel like a piece of ribbon, all different colours and textures. It's hard to believe how far you can go now without even changing trains.

For a while I was remembering coming back from Boston, when I thought everything had gone wrong and I'd never see you again. How much it hurt. But this time, even while I went away from you, I knew that soon I'd be going back. And the miles didn't matter so much anymore because they'd take me home to you.

Sully

 

Virginia City, September 19th, 1870

Dear Michaela,

Yesterday Daniel took me around Virginia City. He says it's just about doubled in size the last few years with all the mines opening. It's easy to see, the way bits have been added on here and there like a patchwork. It's a strange kind of place with a kind of temporary feel to it. Not like Boston or even how I remember New York. Here everything's shifting. There's a lot of bustle and motion but it feels frantic, like Pup when he gets too excited and runs around in circles until he falls over. Maybe that's not a good way to describe a city but it's the sense I get.

I met Miss Thornton, the lady who writes Daniel's letters for him. It's easy to see how sweet on him she is, but he's not the kind to settle down, at least not yet. She seems like a nice lady and I hope she won't be hurt too bad when he moves on.

Today we went to the mine and I don't suppose you're much interested in the operation but you'll be glad to know that the workers' conditions are good, all the equipment is quality, and everything is as safe as can be made. There's only been one cave-in since Daniel's been operating and all the men made it out alive and in one piece. I just hope the new owner keeps it going the same way. Too many men run mines only thinking of profit.

All yesterday and today I kept thinking of things I wanted to show you, tell you about. Now that I'm sitting here I can't think of them. I'm just thinking about you. 

I can't sleep tonight. It's raining hard and you're not here. I remember once you said to me that I'm a part of you and that's how I feel tonight, like a part of me's missing. The best part of me.

Sully

 

September 20th

Dear Michaela,

Daniel was asking about you today. I told him if he wanted to know so much, he should come to Colorado Springs and meet you himself. He said maybe one day he would.

Talking about you with him made me think of things I haven't thought about in a while. I know you don't believe me, that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, but it's the truth. At least that's when it started. Before that day I hadn't looked at any woman twice since Abagail died. When I saw you in your fancy dress talking to the Reverend, I figured a lady like you wouldn't last a week in Colorado Springs. Then you fell and you got right back up, not making any fuss, and kept going like it didn't even matter. That stayed with me. And even though I didn't want to, I kept thinking about you, about the kind of woman you were to be so stubborn, so brave. I liked that about you before I ever saw your face. Right from the beginning, you weren't like I expected you to be.

You confused me, you know, back then. Made me mad. I didn't want to like you, care for you. I didn't want to admire you, the way you tried so hard, the way you believed in people. You see what people can be and you make them want to be better for you. You made me want to be better.

The first time I saw your face, in Loren's store, I remember thinking I'd never seen anyone so beautiful in all my life.

I still think that. Every day.

Sully

 

September 22nd

Dear Michaela,

It's late tonight, maybe even crossed over to morning now, and quiet. The sky is clear and I'm looking up at the stars. They always make me feel peaceful. And knowing that they're the same ones you see makes me miss you just a little bit less.

I slept just fine on my own for years but somehow after only a few months I can't seem to sleep well without you next to me. I wake up in the night and I'm not choking on your hair. Your cold little feet aren't freezing my leg. You'd think I wouldn't miss those things, but I do. And I can't curl up against you just to listen to your breathing. I can't roll over and smell you on the pillow. You're not here in the morning all sleepy and warm to kiss.

I don't know why this is so hard, Michaela. If I'd known how it would be, being away from you, I don't know if I would've come. And I can see you shaking your head at me now and telling me of course I would. I probably shouldn't tell you how much I've always liked it when you argue with me. But then I figure you probably already know.

Sully

 

September 24th

Dear Michaela,

All these contracts and legal papers are reminding me of all those forms I had to fill out when I started as Indian Agent. I'd rather be doing almost anything else.

I've been writing to you for more than a week now and I know if I don't send this soon it might not make it there before I do. I wish I could just bring it to you myself.

I know you and the children are fine but I catch myself sometimes wondering just what you're doing right then, in that moment. I close my eyes and try to picture it. It was the same when you went to Boston, when your Ma was sick. Sometimes I missed you so much it felt like I couldn't breathe. And I couldn't tell anyone. I could hardly tell myself. I didn't know how I was supposed to just keep walking around with everything I felt inside me. That's why I went. I had to see you. I was afraid you'd forget me, that maybe you already had.

When I sit down to write these letters I mean to tell you what's happening here and what Virginia City's like, but I never seem to manage, do I? It makes me feel closer to you to write to you, like we're not so far apart. Most of my life I've been alone and sometimes now, even when I want them to, words just won't come. So many times what's inside me seems too much to fit into anything I could say. Words just get in the way of me showing you how I feel. But they're important to you and I want you to have them. I want you to know and somehow it's easier to find the words when I write them down like this.

You know me. You understand me better than anyone ever has. And I know there's nowhere safer to put my heart than in your hands.

Sully

 

September 27th

Dear Michaela,

There's been a cold, heavy rain all last night and today. It seems like everything makes me think of you now, even the weather. I was remembering the night we spent on Harding's land after I made you leave your tent behind. How the sky just opened up and poured down on us like we were at the bottom of a waterfall.

I was so mad at you for coming with me on that trip. I told myself it was because you could get hurt, and that was part of it, but mostly it was because I wanted you to come and I knew I shouldn't want that. I had no business wanting that. So I got angry with you. It doesn't make much sense now I think about it.

I don't know which of us was more stubborn then.

There were nights I couldn't sleep for remembering that trip after we got home. Your hair when you let me brush it. It was warm from the sun and soft as cornsilk. You tilted your head to one side and I wanted to kiss your neck, just there behind your ear.

The buttons on your blouse. Your hands covering mine. I never knew doing up a woman's buttons could be as exciting as undoing them. 

And then that night in the rain you fell asleep holding my hand. I didn't know how I was going to let go come the morning. That scared me more than anything — that I didn't want to.

Now I've got so many more things to remember, so many more ways I've touched you. I miss all of them.

Sully

 

September 28th

I had the nightmare again. All the rain and remembering, I guess. I woke up with that feeling like I was choking, like there wasn't any air. It was pitch dark and I swear I could feel the water around me, sucking me down. It took me some time to get the lamp lit, I was shaking so bad, but like I told you in Denver, the light helps.

It's always the same. I'm alone, in the dark, and the air is stale. My skin is wet and flaking off in pieces and the water is always rising. It makes no sense to me why I keep having this dream. The cave-in was more than ten years ago. I never think about it now. But it's always the same dream.

Maybe it's just like a scar on the body, a reminder of where you got hurt. Except a scar doesn't wake you up in the middle of the night thinking you're dying.

I'd rather think about you. Lying here without you, I can't help thinking about touching you. I love your skin, your taste. I love the way you respond to me.

That night in Denver was the first time I ever got back to sleep after the nightmare. Used to be that once I got out of it, I just stayed awake. I remember I got up and went into the other room and opened the window so I could lean out and feel the air moving. I didn't mean to wake you but you came out and you put your arms around me. Just holding you made me feel like I could breathe again. 

You lead me back to bed and you made me forget everything except you. 

When we got married, I thought I knew what it'd be like. But being with you isn't like anything I've felt before. I kept thinking it'd stop being so overwhelming. That the wanting would ease some. It hasn't happened yet. 

I miss you like a piece of me is gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complete for now. Maybe someday I'll finish the other 5. I hope so. Thanks for sticking around, Jules. (Also, sorry.)


End file.
